The Next Step

I pulled on the leg-bags just as Archimedes, George Washington, and Barak Obama must all have done--one foot at a time. Did Archimedes wear footer-bags? No matter. Ms Wonder tells me that it is the small things in life that make a difference and I'm sure she's not far from wrong because it is immensely reassuring to know that you are in the company of the greats. Then there's the thing about cats. It bucks one up to be in the company of them too, and they are small. Except for Beignet, of course. He's not small is he?

"Well, Poopsie," I said, "how about it?"

Source: Mango Science

During the morning corralling of cats, I had placed her in possession of the latest developments regarding that book. You remember the book I'm working on. It's a guide for coping with the less pleasing emotions--anxiety, depression--that make one wonder why we bother. I can't wait for the book to be published because I know that reading it will change a lot of lives for the better. Maybe even mine. But no matter how many people look forward to the publication, the fact remains that it must get written, and there, as the man said, is the rub. I'll bet it was Shakespeare who said it first. He seemed to have a knack for coming up with catchy sayings. Would have been a superstar in the Marketing Department.

But I was talking about my book. My agent phoned over the holidays to remind me that it's been almost a year since we first spoke of the book. He was expecting to see a draft before now and is pressing me to get on with it. Easy for him, of course. He doesn't have to write the damn thing. Not so easy for me. I feel like the toad must have felt beneath that harrow. If it was a toad. What is a harrow anyway?

"Thought of anything?" I said to the Wonder.

She didn't answer immediately and this silence instilled in me something of the cold hand clutching the heart. What one doesn't want to hear when pressing a trusted advisor for much needed counsel is the still air. I stifled a hollow groan.

I don't know if you've ever had the experience of surprising a mother bear playing in an open meadow with her new-born cub. Me neither. But I can guess the gist of the results. The adrenal glands empty vats of cortisols into the blood stream, the heart races, the breath comes in deep gulps and the face tingles. That's what this hesitation on her part was doing to me now. I fully expected her suggestion, when she finally discharged it, would catch the Genome right between the eyes.

I continued to dress but my heart wasn't in it. I socked the feet with trembling hands, reminding myself that I was enough for anything that life was about to bung my way. The thought helped a little but it didn't completely erase the feeling that the spinal cord had been left in the fridge past the expiration date.

"It may be," I said, hoping to bolster up the spirit, "that you don't have the whole of the situation clear in your mind. Let me itemize the facts."

"The shirt," she said, and I was relieved to hear that she had changed the topic. "One strives for a straight button-line from neck to waist."

"But I have ankylosing spond...."

"There," she said as she tugged on the front of my shirt. "Perfect"

"Thank you, Poopsie."

"Not at all."

"There are times, when I wonder if gig lines matter," I said.

"The mood will pass," she said.

"I don't know why it should," I said. "Without a solution to this problem, my life will be meaningless. Unless something pops up in my morning meditations I will be lost. Solutions do sometimes pop up, don't they? As though out of the blue?"

"Archimedes is said to have discovered the principle of displacement suddenly during his bath," she said as though remembering something her grandmother had told her.

"Was that a big deal?" I said.

"It's generally considered to have been a very important discovery just as it's generally regretted that he was later killed by a common soldier."

"Aren't you confusing Archimedes with the tai chi master who developed the Five Animal Frolics?"

"Hua Tou was killed by a mistrustful army general, I believe," she said.

"Still," I said, "one soldier is much like another but what's all that got to do with my situation?"

"Well," she said,"it couldn't have been a pleasant experience for either of them."

She spoke truth, of course, and I mused on her words. There seemed to be a lesson for me hidden there. I made a moue. I remember thinking how odd it was. It is moue isn't it, where you push out the lips and then pull them back again?

"We do what we must do," she said, "and often the best course of action is to do the next thing in front of us."

"Is that what great men do?"

"Great and small," she said.

"Alright," I said. "Today I'll organize what I have of the chapters and then first thing tomorrow, I'll get started on bringing the book to a finish."

"And deliver it into the agent's hands," she said.

I'm not sure what Napoleon would have had to say about all this but I've noticed that sometimes we find ourselves operating without benefit of a great general. I noticed it now. The room was completely absent of generals. I sighed deeply and resigned myself to finishing the draft of that book. It is, after all, the next thing in front of me.

Can't Stop Us Now

Sunshine stole across the mews from the general direction of the Atlantic Ocean, not that it was remarkable in any way. I mean, I'm damned if I know how it's done--smoke and mirrors probably--but that old sun rises each and every morning and has done so for a good long time if what I read is true. 

Statistically, it has to fail one day soon, of course, but the Genome doesn't plan to be around when it does. If you're smart, and I readily accept that you are smart, you'll book your getaway with me.

But, as I say, sunshine stole, and then it oozed its way through the gates and onto the grounds of Chadsford Hall. It made its way up the outside wall to the second-floor bedroom window, and if you're wondering how then you won't be surprised to learn that I too wonder how. Perhaps it climbs up the waterspout.

The morning was a perfect ringer for the one we'd been waiting for, Ms. Wonder and I, and we had a song in our hearts when we rose and began preparing for our trip. I think I'm not exceeding the limit when I say the general mood was bumpsie-daisy.

The reason for our whatsit was waiting for us at Litchfield in our sister state to the south. It was twenty years ago this very month that the Wonder and I published our very first travel article in the Birmingham News. We were on our way to those same Eden-like gardens to do yet another article, one that our biographers may recall as, Brookgreen Gardens, Then and Now.

The Genome that waded through a half-dozen cats and padded across the Persian carpet was not the usual Genome. The spirit was high. I may have sung a few lines of "59th Street Bridge Song" and if I didn't sing, then I must have hummed a few bars.

When I reached the sal de bains, I entered a world of mists and fruitful mellowness, and I expected to find Ms. Wonder in attendance. I was not disappointed. She was there, bubble-covered and lilac-scented to the core.

"Good morning," I called into the billows of steam.

"Oh, you startled me," she said.

"Not like you startled me," I said, "I thought you were Venus, rising from the sea."

"You came to bed late," she said.

"Went for a walk in the garden," I said.

"Good for you," she said, "the garden is nice late in the evening. Very soothing."

"That's your view, is it?"

"And the stars," she said.

"What about the stars?"

"You know," she said,"the floor of heaven is thick inlaid with patens of bright gold."

I immediately realized that she was coming dangerously close to the blessed damozel leaned out from the gold bar of heaven and so I decided to take prompt action through the proper channels. This is the way of the Genomes and I'm sure it was the same with Napoleon. I'm sure you agree.

"Poopsie," I said.

"How does it go?" she asked, "the smallest orb in his motion like an angel sings..."

"Poopsie."

Such harmony is in immortal souls..."

"Poopsie!" I cried and the sound of my voice dislodged a cat from a bubble cloud at the foot of the tub. It turned out to be Eddy. The cat I mean, I don't have names for bubble clouds. He gave me one of those looks that cats sometimes do give when not happy about the circs.

"What?" said the Blessed Damsel.

"You couldn't possibly put a sock in the floor of heaven, could you?"

"Sorry," she said. "Not in a good mood then?"

"I've been loonier," I said.

"I'll say," she said.

"Pardon me?" I said.

"Looney to the eyebrows," she said.

"I'm in the room," I said. "I can hear you."

"Sorry," she said, "Are you still thinking about the lost opportunity at Straw Valley?"

"Definitely, not," I said. "I work through these little setbacks and then get on with life. Live for today, is my motto."

"Still," she said, "It's a sad thing to lose a gazelle."

"Ms. Wonder," I said, "don't try me too high. I'm not in the mood to discuss gazelles."

"Over it then?" she said.

"No doubt about it. Fierce living is the thing you know. Take life just as it's hurled at you." I said.

"Good," she said, holding out a shapely arm with the expectation that the Genome would put a towel in it. As it happened, she was not disappointed. "Then it's a good day for the low-country. Let's get ours while the getting's good."

"I'm with you," I said. Sometimes all it takes to turn the tide is being in the presence of the people who are on your side. If you don't have someone on your side, I suggest you give it a try. Try it now and if you have trouble finding someone, don't worry; you can can count on me.

In the Beginning--Kapow!

‘In the beginning’, was the way the paragraph came up to racing speed, and I mention only because I remember how odd it seemed at the time. But that's a side issue and need not detain us here. The book was written by a prestigious member of the Carnegie Institution’s geophysical community named Robert Hazen. I only mention that for legal reasons. What I really want to tell you is that this paragraph contains one of the most fascinating scientific observations of the century on the subject of the origins of the Universe.

The book is titled, “The Story of Earth,” and the paragraph continues to say that all space, energy and matter came into existence from—nothing! I know! According to the author, before the Big Bang, there was nothing and then, in an instant, there was everything needed to make...well, to make today.


This is the point where we raise the eyebrow and direct one of our patented looks at Mr. Hazen and the rest of the astrophysicists, if that's what they're calling themselves these days. And why do we raise our collective eyebrows? Because, of course, we've heard it said a thousand times that scientists don't put any value on ideas for which there is not a single shred of evidence and yet this is exactly what they would have us believe.


Where is the evidence that something can come from nothing? You will find no evidence for it in this world. In making this astounding claim, the astro-scientists are putting themselves in the company of creationists and magicians.


But that's not what I want to explore with you today. I know that you're time is valuable and I don't want to wast a moment of it. No, the real punchline came when the author hauls off and let's have it on the ear bone with this natty observations: “The concept (there being nothing one moment and the entire univers the next) is beyond our ability to craft metaphors."

I admit, this statement left me non-plussed for probably two or three seconds, and I meditated on it as Ms. Wonder and I began our hike along the American Tobacco Trail. I continued to focus on this conundrum with unusual ferocity for some time as we entered that zone of village chaos, with the bicyclers, the double-tandem strollers, the roller-bladers, the “on your lefters” and whatnot.

So focused was I that a near collision ensued with a passing perfect Stormy as she legged it along the trail with a hearty “what-ho” and possibly a dog or two in tow, possibly. I was still paying close attention when we made the turn and headed down the home stretch for the finish line—so fiercely observant was I that I almost missed M. Beck, training for the United States Marine Corp marathon, even though she was tootling me as she passed.

It was at the moment that this Beck was “Hi Genome-ing” that I had an Archimedes moment. You will remember Archi, plashing around in the bath tub, sloshing water all around and shouting 'Eureka!' and whatnot. Not that I wouldn't have done the same in the circs. And that's just what I did shout when the mental machinery sorted through all the data and I found just the metaphor that the author of the book thought beyond our ability.

How had I not seen it right away, I wondered. It was in front of the nose all along. In fact, it was in front of the paragraph. The metaphoric explanation--contained in a very famous book, by the way--for the concept of everything in the Universe coming from absolutely nothing in a flash begins with those same words—“In the beginning….”

I'm sure you saw it immediately. Can't get anything by my loyal fans. And, come to think of it, I'm sure Mr. Hazen realized it too. He was just teasing us. Don't you think so?

The Work of the Aunts

"Well, Ms. Wonder, here we are again," I said with as much top spin as I could muster.

"What?" she said. "Where are we again?"

"The Aunts, of course," I said. "I'm under another curse."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said.

I was astounded. Could she really be that clueless? I mean I had arrived back home only yesterday evening and we spoken of the major events of my road trip already. Is it possible, I wondered that she didn't realize how sorely my soul had been tried?

"I speaking of my trip to Macon, of course, and the tribulations visited on my head by the Aunts. Perhaps you didn't notice the capital 'A' when I mentioned them earlier. The capital 'A' indicates that I refer to the Fate sisters."

"Oh," she said and I realized that she still didn't grasp the gist of the thing.

"You are well aware, Wonder, that when you think everything is going swimmingly and that the world is a perfect place, you turn a corner and there facing you is one of those sisters, standing all akimbo, if akimbo is the word I'm looking for--hand on hip, toe tapping..."

"Yes, akimbo," she said.

"A rolling pin in her hand," I said.

"Rolling pin?"

"Rolling pin is what I said. Are you not familiar?"

"I think not," she said.

"Never mind," I said. "There she is, akimbo, as I mentioned earlier and before you can say, Ziggy Marley, ,Whap! One blunt instrument  upside the head, with the force equal to the maximum dose for the average adult."

"Why Ziggy Marley?" she said.

"Must I describe again how I made specific plans for the road trip, and yet my efforts were thwarted by those sisters, known in Celtic mythology as Babd, Macha and Nemain. This was a day filled just as they would have it with one damn thing after another."

"I was up with the snails that morning. And just as the poet Browning described, the lark was on the wing, or should have been, I didn't actually see a lark. The snails were on their respective thorns as I'm sure you agree had to be true. Probably. And if God wasn't on his throne, the circumstances were such that it made no discernible difference.

All was right with the world, or so it seemed. And that should have been my first clue that the Morrigan were planning to let me have it behind the ear with a sock filled with wet sand. Let me pause the action here to say that the Morrigan are the collective name for the sisters. I know! Don't ask me why. That's just the way it is. I don't make this stuff up, if that's what you're thinking. We must learn to accept it.

I had been led to believe, by some practical jokers, that all my driving options (I was out for a gran tour that day) were filled with rain. I choose the 30% option over the 40%. Small difference I know but when you're in a manic fit, as I'm sure I don't have to tell you, anything you can grab hold of is enough.

The 30% option included Anderson, SC. Follow this closely, you will learn something very telling about the Aunt's modus operandi. I laid a course to Anderson because I have wanted, for quite some time, to visit Aiken. There. Did you catch that? Somehow Aiken was confused with Anderson. You're going to say they both begin with 'A' but that's silly. I've never confused Altoona with Alabama. No, this was the Work of the Aunts alright.

When I realized that Anderson was not the desired destination, it was too far out of my way to change course to Aiken, so I chose the next best option. I rerouted to Athens, GA. And why not? Another city beginning with the same letter of alphabet and home to a highly acclaimed music scene. I thought it would be nice to get me some. So to Athens I rolled.

Oh, Lord, I prayed later that night, deliver me from Athens. I survived the night and moved on to Macon. Macon is where I should have gone in the first place. Beautiful horse country north of Macon and the pecan groves! Majestic is the word that comes to mind. I stopped at one of those yard-art shops with so much metal sculpture you hardly noticed the house. You couldn't have thrown a brick in any direction without clanking some old piece of machinery now living life as a work of art. I  was thinking about going inside to inquire about purchasing one of the pieces.

Before I could put that idea into action, a woman appeared on the front porch and explained, with no room for misunderstanding, that I was trespassing on private property.

I think that about sums it up, don't you? The work of the aunts. One damn thing after another.

Laugh It Off

I don't know if you've noticed but from time to time as we slog along in life, moments arise that make a lasting impression. 'There's one for the record books,' you say to yourself and you realize that the memory of it will come back to you at intervals down through the years. Sometimes, when your head is on the pillow and your thoughts are becoming soft and mellow, up pops the memory, banishing the Sandman, causing you to leap up with that familiar feeling that you're going to die in about two minutes.

One of those remembered moments occurred to me this morning. It was just as I was wakened by Beignet, the orange and white Ragamuffin, when he decided to lie on my face and all that fur clogging the respiratory system brought immediately to mind… well, on second thought, let's not dwell on it. Too morbid. The point is not the memory itself but the effect it had on the limbic system.

This summer has been one for the record books in its own way. The Genome is a sensitive fellow and, what with one thing and another, he's been filled to overflowing with the cortisols that cause depression. When I say overflowing, I mean that the stuff has been sloshing up against the tonsils like the incoming tide. I just don't have room for any more. Full up!

When the hippocampus retrieved the memory and displayed it on the big screen--I'm not so sure it wasn't in 3D--I leapt out of bed, crossed the room to stand in front of the window in what was for me the work of an instant. I was expecting the restorative of summer morning sunshine of course. No good. It's September 11--a cause for more dark memories but not the ones that were suffocating me at the moment. We are mid-month into an early autumn, the season of mists and fruitful mellowness, as Ms. Wonder puts it. The sunshine wouldn't reach the high hills behind Chadsford Hall for another 30 minutes.

What one needs in times like these, I don't need to tell you, is a higher power and I looked around for Ms. Wonder but the room, though well-equiped with the usual furnishings--one bed, two dressers, about a dozen cats, was noticeably absent of Wonders--Poopsie or otherwise.

What now? is what I asked myself.

Run faster! came the reply and it was delivered in a panicked tone of voice, if I can call it a voice. The words were made without benefit of sound waves because it came from the almond-shaped little cluster of brain cells that you may know as the amygdala but I call Princess Amy. "You've got to get away from those memories!" she said.

"Peace, Princess," I said, "be still. There's nothing to be afraid of. I can handle this."

"You?" she said. "You can't deal with something as simple as cat fur. What do you think you're going to do about it?"

It was a good question and I had to admit that she had a talking point about the cat fur. I didn't have a ready answer so I asked her to excuse me while I paced the hallway in thought. It wasn't pleasant in the hallway. Confining for one thing. For another, each time I got a good stride going, I came to the end of the hall and had to turn round and do it all over. Then, as so often happens, an unaffiliated thought led to a serendipitous one and everything changed for the better. Here in a nutshell is what happened.

First, it occurred to me that the office window faces the east and if there is to be sunshine, that's the first place to look for it. I removed myself to the office. Once there, I was surrounded by mountains of thoughts affiliated with my book, Out of the Blue. I'm sure you know what happened next. With that book in mind, all the power principles that make up fierce living presented themselves to me like the fruit in Ms. Wonder's early autumn. There you are then--power principles to keep the blues away. I immediately choose one and put it into action.

"Ha, ha, ha," I said.

"What's wrong with you?" said the princess.

"Hee, hee, hee," I repled.

"Have you dropped of the deep end?" she said.

"Ho, ho, ho," I said and was reminded of good ole St. Nick and all those delightful lies we were told as children. Then I began to laugh in earnest.

"You sound like one of those mad scientists that live in the dungeons of upstate New York castles," said the amygdala. "You should get to a doctor."

By now I felt great. I began to toss about cat toys and laughed just because I felt like it. Beignet and Sagi were doing figure eights at my shins. Abbie was looking at me in saucer-eyed amazement. Uma was racing back and forth from one room to another and Eddy was marching around as though he were in charge of it all.

Now I've come to the reason for this story. You may consider it a warning. If you are enjoying a good bout of deep blue depression and you want to keep it going for a while longer--you may be in a particularly creative mood or perhaps you're preparing for an interview on local radio--for goodness sake don't start laughing. Laughing, even if you don't feel like laughing, will lift you right out of the depths whether you want to be rescued or not.